


Exigent Circumstances

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: Look, breaking and entering is illegal. It’s absolutely and unquestionably a crime. And a cop using their badge to enter a residence without a warrant or exigent circumstances is definitely still a crime, possibly even more illegal than just a regular B&E.It’s also a time-honored part of SVU’s Secret Santa tradition.Or, Amanda draws Barba's name for Secret Santa and breaks into his apartment to figure out what to get him.





	Exigent Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm finally gonna finish the last two chapter of the murder mystery and start 2019 on the right foot!
> 
> Narrator: She didn't.
> 
> Anyway, have this little thing with my hopes that everyone has a great 2019!
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Look, breaking and entering is illegal. It’s absolutely and unquestionably a crime. And a cop using their badge to enter a residence without a warrant or exigent circumstances is definitely still a crime, possibly even more illegal than just a regular B&E.

It’s also a time-honored part of SVU’s Secret Santa tradition.

No one quite knows who started it, although good money is on Cragen, who had the misfortune of drawing Cassidy’s name that first year but somehow wound up giving him the perfect gift. No matter who started it, the tradition is still going strong by the time Amanda comes on board, as Fin casually tells her, when she’s despairing over what to get Munch of all people, that she should just break into his apartment and figure it out.

It works that first year, and Amanda sees no reason why it won’t keep working.

So when she draws Barba’s name for Secret Santa — and when she realizes that the only thing she knows about him is his preferred brand of scotch, which would put her a little above the $25 maximum — she figures it’s time to dust off her badge and casually disregard the Fourth Amendment.

“I promise Mr. Barba’s not in any trouble,” she assures his landlord as he lets her into Barba’s apartment. “I really can’t tell you anything more than that.”

Sure, illegally entering a New York County ADA’s apartment is probably riskier than normal year, and she does feel a little guilty about it as she glances around the entryway of Barba’s apartment.

For about all of twelve seconds anyway.

But now that she’s actually in Barba’s apartment, her guilt is quickly replaced by something like fascination, because the place is not at all what she expected.

Sure, it’s got great hardwood floors, a killer view and deep mahogany furniture, all of which she certainly would’ve anticipated given the swanky Upper East Side address listed in Barba’s DMV file, and it’s got the crammed bookshelves and case files strewn across the coffee table that leave it feeling a little like Barba’s office. But there’s also what looks like handmade Afghan draped haphazardly against the back of the couch, and dishes in the sink, and a grocery list tacked to the refrigerator door under a magnet shaped like what she’s pretty sure is the Staten Island ferry.

Amanda had expected Barba’s apartment to be cold, sterile even, given that he spent seemingly all his time away from said apartment and at his office.

But this looks very lived in. Almost cozy.

She takes a few hesitant steps into the living room, making her way over to the bookshelf in case something sparks her interest. But her eyes glaze over after scanning the third shelf because seriously, how many copies of the same law books does one person need? Barba has a bunch of duplicates, older versions from 1994 and updated ones from 2015.

Moving on from the books, she scans the rest of the apartment for other cues. Her detective senses pick up on something out of place and she crosses to one of the walls, glancing from the framed Matisse print to the neighboring frame, which is, bizarrely, a framed poster of Shea Stadium before it was torn down. 

In fact, littered among the various tasteful art pieces is other Mets memorabilia, and Amanda is intrigued more than anything.

She never would’ve pegged Barba for a Mets fan.

Hell, she never would’ve pegged Barba for a baseball fan.

But more than anything, the posters finally give her an idea for Barba’s Secret Santa gift, and Amanda allows herself a small, triumphant smile.

Clearly this casual flouting of the law has been absolutely worth it.

* * *

 

Barba’s wearing a green-striped tie with red suspenders, which would normally be his sole contribution to Christmas cheer as the squad gathers in Forlini’s for the gift exchange, but Amanda thinks his genuine smile as he watches Carisi open the gift from Fin is probably more fitting with true Christmas spirit.

(Fin, on the other hand, looks smug as hell watching Carisi open his gift, and it’s really not fair because Carisi is the  _ easiest _ person to buy for, no breaking and entering necessary. All you have to do is call Mrs. Carisi on Staten Island and not only will you get about a dozen gift ideas but chances are that you’ll land yourself an invite for Sunday lunch or Christmas dinner to boot.

Judging by how tight the waistband of Fin’s pants seems to be, he clearly took Mrs. Carisi up on her offer.

Asshole.)

Amanda holds her breath as Barba picks his gift out of the pile, and watches his expression go from mildly curious to something like confused as he opens the box. “It’s a baseball,” he says, pulling the ball out of the box.

“Signed by Jacob deGrom,” Amanda tells him helpfully. “And before anyone bitches about it, I got it for free.”

Barba blinks at her. “Signed by who?” he asks blankly.

“Jacob deGrom,” Amanda repeats. “Mets’ pitcher.” She frowns slightly when no spark of realization crosses Barba’s face. “You  _ are _ a Mets fan, aren’t you?”

For some reason, Barba glances at Carisi. “Of course I am,” he says quickly, turning the ball over in his hands and staring down at it as if waiting for it to do something special. “Well, that’s, ah, very thoughtful of you.”

Amanda’s expression falls slightly. “You like baseball, don’t you?” she asks, trying not to sound as desperate as she feels. “You’ve got enough baseball crap— I mean, a little birdie told me you did.”

“A little birdie, hmm?” Barba repeats, and for some reason, the look he gives Carisi this time is dirty. He switches his gaze back to Amanda and smiles at her. “I love it. Thank you, Det. Rollins.”

Frankly, she doesn’t quite believe him, but in any case, what’s done is done, and honestly, Amanda is just ready to put this entire thing to bed and not think about Barba anymore.

And she wouldn’t, if it weren’t for catching a snippet of Barba and Carisi’s conversation a little later that night.

Barba and Carisi are sitting next to each other at the bar, both of them sitting a little too close together considering the fact that no one else is sitting at the bar, but Amanda’s willing to blame it on the copious amount of liquor they’ve all put away.

Barba rolls the ball around on the bar as he says mildly, “I assume you put her up to this.”

Amanda pauses mid-drink, fairly certain that she’s the ‘her’ Barba is referring to.

“I swear I didn’t,” Carisi says. “And put that away, would you? It’s worth good money.”

“If it wasn’t you, then how else would she have known about the damn baseball posters?” Barba asks.

“Maybe she took a wild guess,” Carisi suggests half-heartedly. “I mean, you really think if she had asked me I’d’ve told her to get you something baseball related?”

Barba throws his drink back in a gulp. “You would’ve if you thought it would mean me regifting it to you,” he says darkly.

Carisi laughs lightly. “You give me way too much credit if you think I could honestly be that nefarious.”

“I give you way too little credit since I didn’t previously think you knew what the word ‘nefarious’ meant.” Still, despite Barba’s attempt to keep glaring at Carisi, he can’t seem to stop the smile hovering on his lips. “I never should’ve agreed to let you hang those stupid baseball posters.”

“And everytime I go to bed I have to look at that hideous comforter you picked out for our bedroom,” Carisi tells him. “It’s called a compromise.”

“It’s called you sleeping on the couch for a week if you keep calling my taste in bedding hideous.”

Carisi just laughs again and nudges him gently with his elbow, apparently as affectionate a gesture as he’s willing to make in public, which is also apparently why Amanda never put the pieces together before.

She turns away, using everything she’s got to keep her face impassive as she pretends she didn’t just hear what she did, and a slow, contemplative smile steals across her face as she takes a swig of beer.

Stone may have been her Secret Santa — with a mumbled excuse that her gift was in the mail that she didn’t buy for a second — but Amanda can’t help but feel that Barba and Carisi may have just given her a far better Christmas present than she could have even hoped for.

 


End file.
